


secret admirers with glasses and guns

by queerlytired



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Minor Character Death, Other, Soulmarks, nonbinary!yuuri, the ages are up and down here, yall idek what this is, yuuri courts viktor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-02-28 17:15:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13276140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerlytired/pseuds/queerlytired
Summary: Katsuki Mari spends almost six years as an only child.Then Katsuki Yuuri is born.She knows all the rules by heart by the time he arrives.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> yes hi this was originally supposed to be a one-shot but it's clearly now a wip what can i say we go wid da flo enjoy it maybe folks
> 
> unbeta-ed. do not have a beta. am drowning.

Katsuki Mari spends almost six years as an only child.

 

Then Katsuki Yuuri is born.

 

She knows all the rules by heart by the time he arrives.

 

* * *

 

The woman twirls around aimlessly, her golden locks swirling around her, before settling down on her knees, the carpet plush under her. She cocks her head to the side, watching her two victims bound to their chairs.

 

“I have you both at my mercy,” she says suddenly, softly. “Yet you have no fear in your eyes.”

 

She receives no verbal response, instead observing as the boredom in their eyes shift to amusement.

 

“We have nothing to lose,” Katsuki Hiroko, tied to a chair, says, her mouth quirking up.

 

The blonde - Siobhán, if Hiroko remembers correctly - brings a finger to her cheek and hums thoughtfully.

 

“Not even...hmm, Mari and Yuuri?” Her voice is sweeter than lugduname as her tongue rolls around the ‘r’s. She smiles as amusement turns to hatred.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri has their mother’s tan skin and gold-brown eyes, unlike Mari, who has inherited their father’s pale skin and hazel-brown eyes.

 

When Yuuri is four months old, he can crawl almost as fast as Hiroko’s cat can run, and doesn't cry when his knees and palms get scraped red by the rough carpet of some of the old, rough mats around the house. A month later, he can talk as fast as the middle-aged ladies that come down to the kitchen to gossip with Hiroko.

 

When Yuuri is just shy of eight months, he can walk and run on his own, bumping into the legs of adoring customers and hitting his forehead on the tables in the corridors that hold vases hard enough to break the vases and his skin both, and still does not cry. He chases after their mother’s cat constantly.

 

When Yuuri is a year old, he can throw a ball at their cat (who seems to have aged five times faster only because of the boy’s stamina) with perfect aim, even if she’s moving, and stabs a fork into his father’s hand while wailing about not receiving the pork that Mari has. Toshiya absolutely _coos_ , while he explains to Yuuri that he still lacks the teeth to chew meat, then pats his head with the fork sticking proudly out of his hand.

 

* * *

 

Siobhán saunters over to Toshiya and drops into his lap, putting on a show by wrapping her arms around his neck, wiggling around to get comfortable, and tipping back a little so her chest puffs out. She bats her lashes at him and looks sideways at Hiroko, who is near frothing at the mouth.

 

“Oh, Tosha. Is that a gun or…” she presses harder onto the bulge Toshiya is sporting and grins predatorily at Hiroko, “are you just happy to see me?”

 

“It’s a gun,” he says flatly, and promptly blows her brains out through her vagina. Hiroko blinks.

 

“That escalated very fast, honey.”

 

“You were getting impatient darling, I had to do _something_.”

 

“You shot her through her _vagina_.”

 

“Oh love, I’ve shot _into_ your vagina more times than I can count!”

 

Toshiya watches happily as Hiroko turns a lovely shade of pomegranate.

 

* * *

 

When Mari is ten, she has learnt how to use her family’s inn’s knives as darts with terrifyingly accurate aim, knows how to strangle someone with the inn’s traditional robe and make it look like an accident, and can bend a fork at five different points.

 

When Yuuri is five, he accidentally shoots the cat while re-assembling a gun.

 

Miraculously, it is the end of the cat’s tail that the bullet severes. She dies a month later due to mastocytoma anyway.

 

* * *

 

“Dear?”

 

Hiroko gives an impatient hum, not turning around.

 

“You know the exit is the other way, yes?”

 

Another hum.

 

“So what is it we are doing, exactly.”  

 

“I’m almost done, Toshi.”  
  
Toshiya pouts and intertwines their fingers. Hiroko gives him a fond glance and he ducks his head to kiss her cheek.

 

“As long as we don’t miss supper, _gōjasu_.”

 

“Oh, you.”

 

_“Mm, go maith, cad a dhéanann bhfuil muid anseo?”_

 

* * *

 

Mari is thirteen and has had a relatively peaceful life due to the tranquility and safety of her home, until one day she has to resolve to actual violence for the first time when a man starts to corner her inside her parents own inn and punches his nose, his throat, and his dick in quick succession.

 

The man - “ _Fuckhead_ ,” Mari mutters, - lets out a wail that brings a, eight year old Yuuri running, who assesses the scene in front of him and screams at the top of his lungs, a distress signal.

 

Toshiya materializes in half a second and slits the man’s throat with a furious calm.

 

Mari gratefully runs into her father’s arms, both of them trembling. Yuuri wraps himself behind her, his feet in a puddle of blood.

 

Neither of them forget.

 

* * *

 

“I don’t speak Gaelic,” Hiroko says blankly.

 

“Ah, but you do,” the newcomer says softly, with a heavy accent. “Though I suppose your husband doesn’t. Pity. Let me start again.”

 

When Hiroko’s hold on his hand tightens, Toshiya knows they’re in trouble.

 

“Mm, well what do we have _here_.” Hearing it in English doesn’t make the situation any brighter, his voice making Toshiya want to shudder.

 

 _No escape route, no weapon,_ he thinks, slightly worried. _He has a gun. If I could reach the doorknob behind us..._

 

Toshiya twists open the door the moment the stranger takes his gun out, and he shoves Hiroko and himself inside, only to come face to face with five guns pointed at them.

 

Hiroko brings their tangled fingers up to her mouth and presses a kiss to them right as the guns go off.

 

A moment later, the self-planted bomb next to Hiroko’s heart goes off as well.

 

* * *

 

Okukawa Minako falls to her knees.

 

The letter falls to the ground with her.

 

When Mari is 16 and Yuuri is 11, they are orphaned.

 

* * *

 

Mari cracks an eye open, lazily searching for the source of sound that woke her up. Arm slung around Yuuri, she squints at him, trying to deduce if he’d been snoring a moment prior. Their parents have been gone since noon yesterday and Yuuri’d had trouble sleeping alone because of it.

 

“Mari?”

 

She blinks. “Oh, Minako-sensei. _Ohayo_.”

 

Their ballet instructor swallows once. “Hey,” she says back, her voice wrecked. Mari retracts her arm from a stirring Yuuri and turns the lamp beside her on.

 

Sensei’s eyes are red, her face pale but cheeks blotched red, and Mari’s heart twists when the lack of parents at yesterday’s dinner nudges at the back of her mind. “Sensei?” Mari’s hands start to shake as the woman places two boxes on the bed in front of their feet and steps back. Bows. Yuuri sits up beside Mari, eyes wide, as they watch tears fall from their still-bowed sensei.

 

The box in front of Mari is longer and thinner, compared to Yuuri’s smaller and wider. Both boxes are covered in tacky wallpaper and have post-its taped onto the lids. Mari nearly rips the lid of the box off in her increasingly growing panic, her vision getting cloudy.

 

Mari’s box contains an Indonesian Pindad SS2-V4 and a gun license. Yuuri’s holds a Russian-originated MP-443 Grach and a gun license with another post-it that says ‘Do not use before you’re 15!!!’. Both guns are engraved with golden Hiragana;

 

 _いつもあなたと_.

 

_Itsumo anata to._

 

_Always with you._

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aight folks here it is sorry for the delay thank yall for ur kindnesses

When Mari turns 18, they don’t leave the country immediately. They wait a year, more than enough time for her to sign the documents every mafia and crime group and fellow shooters and random higher ups that come to congratulate Mari on her inheritance like it isn’t a slap to the face as to how why she got it. She doesn’t crack, not once, and Yuuri cries with raw pride.

Mari turns 19, and after celebrating her birthday - which consists of small murmurs of happy birthday from the one friend she has left, from their tearful and tipsy sensei, a weepy Yuuko, and an indifferent Nishigori that Yuuri is touched even came - they take Vicchan and head straight to the airport. They buy a map of America, and Mari makes Yuuri close his eyes and place his finger randomly on the crisp paper. They buy their tickets, and hold hands all the way to Detroit.

There, not only do they survive, but they _live_.

Detroit is where Yuuri discovers his love for coffee, where he picks up skating as something more than just a hobby, where he gets his first official job to kill a Matt Hughes by serving as his errand boy. It’s where Mari gets her first tattoo and her eyebrow pierced, where her body count passes 25, where she gets into university to study psychology as easy as anything, where she starts smoking.

Yuuri carries the gun his parents left him in the gun holster he never takes off during daylight, a terrible risk in the hallways of high school with bodies swimming in between bodies to get to their goals. And so he becomes one of the first people to get to school, the first person to leave a class to eventlessly get to another, and effectively ends up making himself a loner for the sake of his survival for the four supposedly best years of anyone's life according to an outdated Minako (who’s outdated according to Mari).

“You could just _not wear it_ , stupid.”

Minako receives a scandalized look through her laptop screen. “As _if_ , Sensei.”

“As if, _Sensei_ ,” Mari mimics him in a whiny voice from where she’s doing her fourth assignment of the night, “I’ll have to _mingle_ with _people_ then.”

“At least it stops people from asking me to do their assignments.”

Minako laughs when Mari flips him off. “You guys should visit soon, you know,” she suggests wistfully. “It’s lonely here with nothing but my thoughts.”

“I can’t believe it’s been almost five years,” Yuuri says at the same time Mari mutters, “The guy in your bed last week would beg to differ.”

Minako’s eye twitches suspiciously on their monitor. “Anyway,” she says loudly, “I heard the Altin family is moving to America. Death in the family, or something.”

Yuuri frowns. “Don’t they have a kid my age?”

“I think so,” says Minako, looking thoughtful. “They’ll probably move near you guys to kiss ass and all.”

“Is that what the guy last week did?” Mari questions in a sweet voice. Minako’s face starts to purple.

Yuuri hurriedly says goodbye and drops the call.

* * *

The sun is just coming up, slowly lighting the sky up with different colours, like it can’t decide which colour to wear today, before settling on another shade of blue like normal. Except it doesn’t today. Instead it rises up, casting hues behind it and hides behind a cloud, switching to grey before it starts to pour.

_Good,_ Yuuri thinks cheerfully. He fucking hates the sun.

It’s the weekend, and the rain doesn’t seem to be letting off anytime soon. Yuuri deposits Vicchan on Mari’s bed and heads out, foregoing both an umbrella and his gun.

_What does one do on such a beautiful day,_ he thinks dejectedly. Thought it’s raining, it’s still relatively warm, making the weather entirely too humid. Yuuri shields his glasses and squints at the sky. _I don’t feel like skating_. The rink’s closed anyway, it being Sunday, and so is the studio.

Which means both will be empty and he could easily sneak in and stay for however long he wished. He switches routes, enjoying the rain soaking through to his bones and pockets his glasses as an afterthought, ambling through the puddles that are forming quickly.

Reaching the studio, Yuuri heads to the backdoor of the place. Breaking open the lock is easy but he grins triumphantly when the lock clicks open anyway. Toeing his shoes off, he steps inside, stripping himself of his shirt and pants and hangs them over the railing attached to the mirror, resolutely avoiding his reflection. A force of habit.

Left in a black tanktop and tights, he pads over to the music box in the front of the room with relatively dry socks. Making a face at it, he selects something random and treads back to the middle of the room, not quite bothering to warm up. Slowly, Yuuri lifts his left foot to rest on the side of his right knee and raises one arm over his head.

He spins once, twice, raises his leg into a perfect half-split in the air. Looks at the blurry image in the mirror in front of him, imagines it to be a better version of himself.

He closes his eyes against the image and lets himself go.

When Yuuri resurfaces, it is more than five hours later, his back on the floor, knee raised and chest heaving, and to loud applause.

Yuuri blinks - _wait, what?_

He weakly lifts his head up to see a bleary outline next to the music box, jumping excitedly towards Yuuri.

“I’m Phichit!” The figure - Phichit - announces cheerfully, loudly, offering Yuuri a hand. From close he seems innocent enough, though Yuuri knows well not to assume. “That was amazing, I’ve never seen someone dance so- how do I explain it? Perplexing but inspiring!”

Yuuri speechlessly takes the offered hand while Phichit continues to gush about his dancing; “-there’d been ballet, but combined with breakdance moves? Or was it the opposite maybe? There was this thing that looked like a salchow too, I hadn’t even known you could do those off ice! Aah, I’m so glad I got it on camera!”

Phichit insists on buying him coffee - “Strictly platonic, I swear!” - and Yuuri adds meeting Phichit Chulanont to the list of major events that happened in Detroit.

* * *

It’s the anniversary of their parents wedding. They would’ve been married for 25 years today, Yuuri muses.

Vicchan paws curiously at his hand. Yuuri smiles warmly and rubs through his fur, examining his arm, twisting it this way and that. It’s something he’s made a habit of ever since Mari-nee got her soulmark - a beautiful Gladiolus, on her right butt-cheek, at the age of 17.

Minako had often said it looked like her soulmate had given her a third nipple, offending and amusing Mari equally.  

Huffing to himself in amusement, Yuuri checks his right arm next, wishing again that he hadn’t made a habit of this. He’s _twenty_ now. Wouldn’t he have already had a mark by now if he’d actually had a soulmate? Vicchan whines and wags his tail, nipping at Yuuri’s fingers still in the air.

“Yes, yes, let’s go for breakfast- oh.”

_There_. On the side of Yuuri’s ring finger is a small, [ thin stem that holds a fragile blue rose](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/14/53/04/1453041bbc880418fb2c3b892f28e26d--blue-rose-tattoos-blue-tattoo.jpg). The stem grows a single leaf, right in front of his eyes, slow and small, like an afterthought. It’s the smallest soulmark he’s seen, almost like those minimalist tattoos Nishigori is always thinking about getting.

Yuuri’s heart jumps to his throat and drops to his stomach, erupting into butterflies. It’s love at first sight, and he hollers for Mari as he runs, spilling into her room and holding his finger up triumphantly.

Mari wishes him luck on explaining to his soulmate how he kills people for a living and kicks him out.

“You’re a jerk, nee-san,” he wails.

“That’s what they’re going to say to you!”

“Fuck off!”

“They might say that too!”

“I’m _leaving_!”

“Hopefully they won’t say that.”

_“BYE!”_

Phichit thinks it’s the sweetest thing someone could possibly receive as a soulmark. And compared to the smudged numbers representing the ones on a ruler he has on his wrist, it might actually be, so Yuuri keeps his mouth shut and clings to the joy his heart is enveloped in for as long as he can.

_I will love and protect you with everything I have,_ Yuuri mentally, firmly, pledges to himself, and to his soulmate. _I swear it._

* * *

The next day, he’s hired by a random skater he’s never heard of to take out one of Russia's sweethearts, Viktor Nikiforov, before the Grand Prix Final.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO R U SHOOK BC I DEFINITELY AM

**Author's Note:**

> please tell me if there are tags i've forgotten or should i add i wont bite
> 
> i might fix the big spaces in between lines thing. i might not. i cant decide if i dislike it or nah


End file.
